


Absence

by spottswood (canyouseemyspark)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aristocracy, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Modern Royalty, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rich Kid Problems, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-29 16:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16747957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canyouseemyspark/pseuds/spottswood
Summary: A series of modern royalty AU one-shots.The Targaryens continue to rule as an absolute monarchy.(Tags & rating to be updated).





	1. Daenerys & Robert

**Author's Note:**

> It has been ages since I've written anything and it's been frustrating to have so many ideas and not be able to get the down on paper. This will be a sort of experimental series; it's all taking place within the same world, more or less, but is more of my attempt to get writing again then to craft a multi-chaptered, linear story. I envision this taking place sometime in the 20th/21st century, in the context of an absolute monarchy. The Targaryens are in power and Rhaenys/Aegon/Jon are all alive.
> 
> I anticipate the Baratheons, Martells, Starks and Targaryens will feature the most but I would like to touch on more houses than that - we'll see!
> 
>  
> 
> "but isn’t desire always the same, whether the object is present or absent? isn’t the object always absent? —this isn’t the same languor: there are two words: pothos, desire for the absent being, and himéros, the more burning desire for the present being."  
> –roland barthes

Daenerys sat across the table from Robert, in silence. She picked listlessly at her toast, tested the texture of the pear and apple jam with her spoon, and occasionally touched her coffee mug. Meanwhile, Robert was tearing into his sausage and eggs so forcefully she could hear the cutting of the knife against his porcelain dish; the sound made her cringe, as did his ravenous appetite, his frequent belching, the way his belly pushed up against the table, the sweat on his brow. 

She had lived at Storm’s End for her whole life, he was her guardian and yet so rarely was she alone with him. The few times they were he sat in silent rage, or ignored her presence entirely. The household staff ensured that their lives moved separately, their orbits rarely overlapping. It was only when they were traveling - as they were now, to Riverrun for her niece’s wedding - that they bothered to maintain the appearance of a familial relationship. In Storm’s End, there was no one to perform for; outside, there was all of Westeros watching.

He was her guardian, he was to be her surrogate father. It was Lord Arryn’s idea, Renly had explained to her when the old man came to visit Storm’s End, to heal the rift between the cousins. Rhaegar got Lyanna and Robert got her; as a guest in his home, as a peace offering, an infant, a reminder, a hostage. Certainly not as a daughter, not as a cousin, and not a living human. Maybe as a ghost.

_ I remind him of Rhaegar _ , she thought before, when she was younger and first began reading novels and reading about love,  _ I remind him of the pain of losing the woman he loved.  _ But soon after that, she was old enough to understand that the women he frequently brought to Storm’s End - who she would see from her window emerge from his dark cars in the night, all sorts of women, women with beautiful dresses, women who laughed and held onto his arm - were not just his friends.  _ How could he love someone and yet sleep with other women, bring them to his home and to his bed?  _

Daenerys had asked Maester Cressen once, after one of her lessons. The maester had grown so quiet, his lips pinned into a thin line, and had stayed that way for a few moments before ending her lesson early. After that, she never saw the women from her window again. 

Robert dropped the knife and fork in his plate with a loud clang, pushed his plate away and his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor and he was heading out of the door. Their breakfast had lasted all of ten minutes, and it was the first time she had seen him in six months. 

Daenerys continued to pick at her toast, alone.


	2. Lyanna/Rhaegar & Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me… for my love - for ruining you with my love.  
> — Fyodor Dostoevsky, from The Brothers Karamazov.

Jon had been telling Lyanna about his visit to the Wall with his brother, excitedly describing to her how deep the snow had been around them when they woke up their first day and the half frozen lake where they weren’t allowed to walk when her phone rang. She might have lunged for it if she had been fast enough, but she was so happy to see him in person, not through a Facetime screen, that she hadn’t thought to. He picked up her phone instead to hand it to her and glanced at the screen for a fraction of a second; that was enough, his face instantly fell, his frown so deep that it reminded Lyanna of her father in a way that hurt her heart.

“Why is he calling you?” He asked, not quite looking her in the eye, staring just past her face.

Lyanna sighed.

“He’s your father.”

“I know he’s my father,” Jon repeated, his voice steady, “But why are you speaking to him?”

They had had this conversation so many times, Lyanna didn’t know what to say anymore. Jon probably felt similarly exasperated. _I’m your mother_ , she might have said, probably _had_ actually said in a previous argument, _you can’t tell me what to do, you can’t tell me how to live my life, I’ve had enough of men telling me what to do._ But because he was her son, because she loved him, she wouldn’t say that.

“It’s complicated,” she said instead.

Jon turned the ringer off on her phone and placed it carefully on the countertop. He crossed his arms over his chest, breathing tensely.

“What’s complicated about it?” He asked, “He is my father and I have a relationship with him. You don’t have to. I’m not a kid anymore, you don’t have to pretend to be together to spare me some sort of trauma.”

He ended his sentence with a halted laugh that hurt her to hear.

 _It isn’t about you_ , she wished to say, but how could you explain to your child, no matter how old they were, that their parents actions did not indeed revolve around them? _I’ve known Rhaegar since I was 15, I’ve known him for longer than I lived without him,_ she wanted to say. If she was talking to one of her brothers she might have said, _he’s the only man I’ve ever been with_ , and if it was Benjen he would say, _it’s because he groomed you_.

But it was more complicated than that. He hadn’t forced her to do anything, she had _chosen_ to go with him. And she chose to stay in King’s Landing after Jon was born, after Rhaegar offered to let her go back to Winterfell ( _and keep Jon with him_ , Ned might have reminded her, kindly, Ned who had helped her to name Jon, their choice), she chose to marry him, to be crowned, to take on her share of appearances, to run her philanthropy committees. She chose to continue to share his bed, she chose to initiate, and even now that their child was grown up and she no longer lived in King’s Landing, she chose to remain in contact with him, to travel to see him whenever he was nearby.

 _And if you didn’t call, would he?_ Elia might have said, not with her words but with a look. It may not have been Lyanna that Rhaegar went to for advice on matters of the state and it may not be Lyanna that Rhaegar continued to live with, but what did that matter? They had chosen each other 20 years ago, they weren’t brought together by politics or parents but by love.

“We love each other,” Lyanna said to her son, “Your parents love each other, isn’t that a good thing?”

Jon looked sad at that. Lyanna couldn’t tell what he was thinking. _He doesn’t love you_ , was that what Jon wanted to say? _He loves only himself_ , maybe _,_ but that wasn’t true, he loved his children, that was clear, he loved his brother and his sister. _He’s not good for you,_ Jon was more likely to say, had told her before, _I want you to be happy, I want you to meet someone else, you’re still young, you’re beautiful._

Instead, he breathed out, uncrossed his arms, walked over and hugged her.

“I love you, mom.”


	3. The Starks & Arya/Gendry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holidays at Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a piece of fluff I had saved on my computer literally for years, which I modified for this collection. I hope I did the Starks justice!

Each new year celebration, Benjen and his brothers would have to hold a negotiating session on the phone, figuring out who could host, who could go where, how to include Lyanna and Jon without including the king, without going to King’s Landing but without having it seem as though they didn’t want to.

It was easiest for Brandon; he had washed his hands of the mess years ago, told Lyanna that just because he accepted her decision didn’t mean he had to be a party to them. It was typical Brandon, the attitude he’d had all his life with his younger siblings, that if you came to him with the same problem more than once, and each time complained of the same thing, worried about the same thing without listening to his advice, without trying to change anything then he would stop listening. It was his way, and father’s way, of making them “proactive about their own happiness,” of not letting them wallow in misery. It had never worked for anyone other than Brandon. When the Daynes had found out Ashara had an abortion, when they demanded he come to Starfall to marry her and set things right, he had done so without complaint. When the Tullys were inflamed by that, he signed over his rights to Winterfell to Ned with similar irreverence. How much of it was performance and how much of it was real, Benjen didn’t know and wouldn’t dare ask Brandon. He couldn’t imagine it was easy to give up his birthright, but if it wasn’t Brandon didn’t show it. 

Brandon had no patience for indecisiveness, for compromise, for diplomatic arrangements of something as trivial as where to host their new year party. He would do whatever Ned thought was best that year, always the first to lose his temper and get off the phone.

It was easier when Jon got older and became more independent; he could choose where he wanted to go and travel without the usual royal entourage. This year he had already made plans with a young woman he was trying to hide from his family and wouldn’t be joining them; Lyanna was staying behind in the capital; and Brandon had agreed to make the journey north from Starfall.

Ned had sent the household staff home for the holiday and was helping Catelyn make dinner. Benjen had been sent out to buy some last minute ingredients and, having been buzzed through the gates of Winterfell and juggling the grocery bags, awkwardly rang the doorbell with his elbow. 

It was Brandon who opened the door, holding a champagne flute in his hand. It always threw Benjen off to see his brother so tan, even after all these years. _I guess that’s what 20 years of living in Dorne would do to anyone, even a Stark_.

“I’ll take care of the bags,” Brandon said, beginning to grab them from Benjen’s arms.

“Thanks.”

There was the sound of some arguing coming from down the hall.

“What’s going on?” Benjen asked.

Brandon pointed in the direction of the voices and shrugged, as though to say, _go look for yourself_. After all these years, it was still uncomfortable for Catelyn to have him around. Brandon tried to ease the tension by spending time with his nieces and nephews instead, and never bringing Ashara to Winterfell but whenever he accidentally overstepped, the mood would shift and the night would end quickly. It explained why he wanted to hide away in the kitchen now.

Benjen walked down the hall, through the foyer and into one of the living rooms. Arya was sitting on the couch, her face red, her arms crossed over her chest. Sansa sat on the couch across from her, glaring at her, their parents standing between them, frowning deeply. Catelyn had red blotches the skin of her arms and her neck, something Benjen knew after all these years only happened when she was furious.

Rickon and Bran were nowhere in sight but Robb was sitting on the piano bench facing them. He was the only one who didn’t seem angry, just bemused. That comforted Benjen. 

“Is everything alright?” Benjen asked.

“Arya was caught trying to sneak out,” Robb answered quickly, trying to hide a smirk.

Benjen would have smiled at that, if the room didn’t feel so tense. His niece certainly kept things interesting. She sometimes reminded him of Lyanna, of her attempts to cajole him into covering for her, for small things at first and then finally for a big thing, the thing he regretted although she insisted she didn’t. Arya though, didn’t have a co-conspirator; Sansa was much too different to understand her, let alone lie for her, and Bran was far too attached to Catelyn to lie to her, even for his sister. She ended up getting caught far more often than Lyanna ever had. But perhaps that was a good thing.

Robb continued, “She had one foot out her bedroom window when Sansa saw her.”

That explained why Sansa was looking self-satisfied.

“We’re here together as a family. Your Uncle Brandon came all the way from Dorne and Uncle Benjen is on leave from the Wall. It’s very rude of you to not want to spend time with your family, Arya,” Ned said softly, looking closely at his daughter.

Arya seemed almost ashamed by that but was too stubborn to admit it, and only averted her eyes. Her phone in her back pocket was ringing faintly and she was fidgeting anxiously but not moving for it.

“Where exactly did you think you were going?” Catelyn asked, clearly exasperated, “It’s new year’s, it’s not safe for you to be out there alone”

Arya flushed at that, “I can take care of myself.”

“You’re 16!” Robb laughed.

Arya glared at him, moved as though to start for him and shut him up but thought better of it; it only made her big brother laugh more.

“Where were you planning on going?” Ned asked, taking a seat beside her and speaking to her gently, trying to defuse the situation.

Arya didn’t answer, seemed only to sink deeper into her seat.

“Does it have something to do with why your phone keeps ringing?” Catelyn asked.

That did the trick. Arya’s eyes flashed up instantly, and it was clear Catelyn had gotten to the heart of it. Benjen wanted to help her in that moment, remembering all the times Lyanna had been in the hot seat but it was too late – Arya was cornered.

“It’s just… It’s just…. Well, one of my friends is near Winterfell and I promised… I promised him I would go see him.”

Everyone in the room understand the implications of _friend_ and _him_ , loud and clear. Even Robb didn’t seem to have a response to that.

Ned had never spoken about his daughters having any boyfriends; in fact, Benjen hadn’t thought even Robb had really started dating yet.

It was quiet for a moment, but Catelyn seemed to relax. Her mind had likely been running with much worse possibilities.

“Well, why don’t you ask your _friend_ to join us?” She asked.

Arya shook her head instantly, “No, he wouldn’t like that… I mean, it’s early… We haven’t known each other for very long, we just became friends. I was only going to show him around the festival in Winter Town.”

“Well,” Ned responded slowly, weighing his words carefully, “How about we make a deal? If you start being honest us, no more of this sneaking around, Robb can drive you to meet this young man for a couple of hours. But when you come back, we have to have a serious talk”

Robb protested immediately, “Why me?”

“It’s alright,” Benjen cut in, before another argument rose up, “I can drive you, Arya.”

Arya smiled so brilliantly that any doubt about the significance of this mystery boy to her.

Later, when they were driving towards winter town, Arya sitting in the passenger seat, her eyes glued to her phone, thumbs moving rapidly across the screen, Benjen turned to her as they stopped at a traffic light.

“What is this guy’s name, anyway?”

His niece seemed to smile at that, just barely.

“Gendry.”


	4. Renly/Loras & Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now I can’t stand to be alone / let’s go to perfect places”  
> -lorde, “perfect places”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for substance abuse and implied homophobia

There’s no reason to sneak out in Storm’s End. 

It was something which her nieces and nephews did, she knew, had learned from phone calls with Rhaenys. In the summers, when the court moved to Summerhall, they could go down to the kitchens when the castle was asleep and sneak out through the servants’ quarters. They had nearly been caught a few times when Balerion, Rhaenys’ cat, had tried to follow and tipped over some furniture in the process.

But at Storm’s End, no one seemed to care who came and went. It was less of a matter of worry about how to leave and come back unnoticed than it was about having someplace to go in the first place.

That wasn’t a problem when Renly was around. He seemed to know everyone there was to know in Westeros, or at least make them feel so at ease that they felt as though they were known by him. He always arrived with a slew of invitations, not to the balls, fundraisers, and ribbon cuttings that Daenerys was always invited to, but to restaurants that parties where his friends would buy out restaurants, where people would end up dancing on the tables, or crowded clubs or lavish apartments owned by god knows who.

Tonight was no different.

They had gotten ready in her bathroom. They chatted as they leaned over the sink, adjusting their wigs. It was true that no one at Storm’s End cared what they did, but plenty of other people did; all it would take was one photographer at the right place at the right time, catching them in entirely the wrong place, and that would be it. Renly had opted for a blonde wig tonight, a shaggy thing that he covered with a beanie. Daenerys picked a short black bob, with strands of disco ball, shiny silver. They both looked ridiculous, but would maybe maintain some level of plausible deniability if pictures of them were taken.

They pregamed in her room, each downing two shots, (“It’s going to be a long drive,” Renly had said before they got in his car) and it was; they had driven for an hour and a half before Renly pulled off the highway in a gas station parking lot. He turned off his headlights and Daenerys understood why they were there.

Within a few moments, a man emerged from the gas station and slowly approached the car. He was wearing a hooded sweater which covered half his face, shook Renly’s hands, and walked back in. He left behind a tiny plastic bag, full of tiny white pills which Renly handed over to Daenerys and peeled off from the parking lot, back on the road.

“Don’t take those yet,” Renly said, “We still have an hour to go.”

“An hour?” Daenerys asked, before realizing, “Renly, you can’t go there.”

Another hour of driving would put them in the Reach, and being in the Reach meant Renly would be seeing Loras.

“I’m not even sure he’ll be there,” Renly lied, his eyes not leaving the road, “And even if he is, is it wrong for us to be friends?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being friends,” Daenerys responded, “But that’s not what you are.”

“It’s only one night. There’s nothing wrong with one night.”

But it was never one night. Renly had been slipping out of this grey space with Loras Tyrell for years. The longest they had gone without speaking was two months, despite how final their parting seemed.  _ “How do you expect this to end?” Dany had asked him before. Renly had quoted some book or some movie in response, “Why spoil a romance by trying to make it last forever?” _

Renly reached over to turn up the radio, his way of ending the conversation, and they drove the rest of the way without speaking.

It was only when they arrived at the Reach that he smiled at her again. They pulled up to a house, cars crowding the porch, music blasting from inside that the house itself seemed to shake. Renly left his car with all the others and they walked towards the house, their buzz wearing off. On the front porch, he placed one of the white pills in the palm of her hand and popped one in his mouth then entered.

From there, the night went as many others had gone before. They drank and smoked and took more of the white pills, and danced with each other and with strangers. She met all sorts of people; most of them seemed from noble families, she could tell by the way they spoke, the space which they took up, but she forgot their faces quickly. There was an older guy who kissed her or tried while they were dancing, boasting that he was a Hightower, but she forgot him too.

As the high wore off, she retreated within herself and away from the crowd. She didn’t want to be here anymore, suddenly, the people around her seemed strange and the scenes cut out and in; suddenly she was drinking something out of a cup, tasting it, then she could see Renly speaking to a man who seemed like Loras, holding him by the arms, and then she was in the car, alone. 

Dany looked at her phone. It was 2:00am; she had gotten no notifications. It suddenly made her feel incredibly sad.

She lost consciousness, or perhaps fell asleep, and when she woke up the car was moving and Renly was in the driver’s seat. She reached out to touch his knee; it felt comforting, to be grounded in someone else by touch.

“We’ll have to get married soon,” He said suddenly.

“What?”

“I was speaking to Loras and he was saying we will all have to be married soon,” Renly explained, his voice far away, “One day, Robert will come to me and tell me I’ve been betrothed to one of his bannermen’s daughters. Mace Tyrell will do the same to Loras. And then what?”

And her too, Daenerys would be sent to King’s Landing and have to marry some lord that her brother picked out for her. She would have to go live somewhere else, in a stranger’s house, and let him sleep with her, and have to have her children.

But at least for her, there was the dream of love in a marriage, the fantasy of it. For Renly, it never could.

Daenerys’ head was aching and there was a sour taste in her mouth, but she shifted her weight in the car so she could face him.

“You’re the third son. And Loras is too. You can fight it.”

“Maybe,” He responded, quietly, “But when has that ever worked for anyone before?”

_ No one _ , they both thought.

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first time writing many of these characters in contact with each other, as well as experimenting with different ships. That process can be really difficult sometimes, and certain characterizations are much harder for me than others. Please feel free to leave me a comment and let me know how I'm doing.


End file.
